


Disarmed

by 0stara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Angst, Angst and Feels, DH camping trip on steroids, Dark Ron Weasley, Deathly Hallows AU, Draco Malfoy Redemption, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Hermione is not raped, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mild Hermione/Other Characters, Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29544558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0stara/pseuds/0stara
Summary: This fic is based on the art series of the same name by Kassie Fox @kassiesketches on instagram.  Permission was given by the artist for me to write this fic.Hermione finds herself and her friends in the woods during what should have been their seventh year at Hogwarts hiding from Death Eaters and Snatchers.  While trying to survive the elements and avoid their enemies and destroy the remaining horcruxes, the golden trio find themselves in possession of something they never imagined.  A hostage.This fic as an AU where Draco is with the trio during the sad camping trip (and beyond) during Deathly Hallows.  How will the four of them manage? How much effect can close quarters have on life-long grudges and crushes over weeks of isolation?  How can allegiances shift and betrayals surface?  I guess you'll just have to read to find out.Contains movie AND book canon.  It's labeled AU, so for best results just sit back, relax and enjoy.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	Disarmed

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a writer. I’m someone who was inspired by a series of paintings I saw by an artist named Kassie Fox. You can find illustrations for this fic on her instagram, which I highly suggest you follow. Don’t worry. Permission was given by the artist for this fic to be written by myself.  
> Again, I am not a writer. I’m just a person who became inspired, and had the time to write. This fic is an AU that contains both book and movie canon. For best results, suspend your sense of disbelief, relax, and enjoy. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains detailed description of panic attacks/panic disorder.

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

I think I made you up inside my head.”

-Sylvia Plath

Blood coated Hermione’s trembling fingers. Moisture soaked through her denims sending chills up her legs as her knees sunk into the mud beneath the sheet of fallen leaves. She could faintly hear Ron's incoherent sobs and Harry’s agitated questions, but all was muffled by the ringing in her ears. All her eyes could make out was the gaping hole gushing blood in Ron’s shoulder. Everything else in her peripheral was blurring to black. 

Going to the ministry had been a mistake. They hadn’t been ready. Not even close. Even with Hermione’s obsessive attention to detail and Harry’s enthusiasm, there were too many variables she hadn’t considered. They should have waited to go in. They should have done a trial run just to get the lay of the land and understand typical ministry proceedings, but Harry had been impatient. As soon as they’d realized that Umbridge had the locket in her possession, there was no stopping him. Hermione’s mind wandered to another time, two years ago, when Harry had first rushed them into the Ministry of Magic with little to no plan. Commandeering six Hogwarts thestrals, flying to London and breaking into the Department of Mysteries seemed like a cakewalk compared to today. Harry’s impatience had been the catalyst in both catastrophes. Today they genuinely were lucky to be alive; all three of them. 

She stopped herself. No. Today had been different than fifth year. The two scenarios weren’t that similar.. Her mind was trying to find someone, something, to blame for… this. For Ron lying in a clearing with his arm practically ripped off. For the fact that they were in the wilderness, and all Hermione had was a tent and a stranger's clothes.

The truth was that it was just as much her fault as Harry’s. She should have forced them to wait, but the idea of knowing the exact location of a Horcrux had been tempting even to her. And Ron had been enthused to simply feel like they were doing something… anything to fight Voldemort. They were all at fault. Now there was nothing to do but to try as best she could to heal Ron. For the moment, nothing else mattered. 

Hermione had taught herself some healing spells, but nothing that could fix this level of damage. A wild part of her mind laughed to think that magical first aid hadn’t been on the roster of available classes at Hogwarts. If she survived this, she’d do her best to change that for future students who attempt a Ministry coup at seventeen. Be the change you want to see, Hermione’s mind chuckled. 

She drew shaking breaths as the clear liquid trickled from the Dittany bottle into Ron's torn shoulder. Sheets of thin but healthy flesh began to stretch and grow covering Ron's exposed humerus bone. Hearing herself whisper reassurances over Ron's screams, she quickly stoppered the bottle and returned it to her bag. That would have to do for now. He could have another dose tomorrow. Hermione’s chest fell as she wondered if Dittany also prevented infection. 

Quickly, she slung the bag around her shoulder and stood pacing some twelve feet away. There had to be wards cast. They were in the wilderness, but she had no intention of taking any chances. Who knew the methods the Death Eaters had devised to track their enemies now? Hermione felt her heart sink suddenly at the realization that No. 12 Grimmauld Place was gone forever. As secret keepers, they’d as good as handed Yaxley the key to their Gringotts vault when she apparated the four of them onto the front stoop. Hermione’s breath hitched mid-spell. What would become of Kreacher? No. From now on, no stone would be left unturned. This wasn’t like school. The risks were too great. 

Hermione spent the next half hour or so warding and rewarding their makeshift campsite. Steadily she’d noticed that the symptoms of panic or shock… or both had pretty much worn off. Her vision had cleared, and she was generally much more aware of the sights and sounds around her. The forest looked different from the last time they’d been there at the end of summer holidays before fourth year. The beginnings of autumn had effectively killed all the lush green leaves they had used as cover when the Death Eaters had attacked the Quidditch World Cup. An errant thought dragged her mind to the memory of Malfoy that night, and his warning about The Death Eaters coming for her. She paused to wonder what had become of Malfoy after Dumbledore’s murder. Was he safely tucked away in his grand manor with house elves serving his every meal in the comfort of his four poster bed? 

Ron had been moved into the tent to rest. Hermione prayed to anyone who would listen that Ron might be strong enough to be moved in a couple days. The thought of being stuck here with only her enchantments to protect them was drawing a cold sweat from her pores and tied a knot in her gut. 

She found Harry sitting beside Ron's bunk holding the locket aloft and staring at it with malice in his eyes. For as badly as he’d wanted to find it, Hermione knew Harry was tearing himself up inside over Ron's injury and Kreacher's fate. She questioned for a moment if Harry might blame her. Maybe he was irritated that she’d not thought of a better way to repel Yaxley before they landed at Grimmauld Place? Perhaps he assumed she would have anticipated the issues they’d encountered. That was what Hermione Granger was supposedly good for, right? That’s what had justified her position in Harry’s circle for six years. 

Hermione pocketed her wand and moved to sit next to Harry. Ron, it seemed, had finally dozed off. His color was slowly returning, but he was still so pale even for him. 

Harry rotated the locket between his fingers saying nothing. He didn’t look at her. She did notice that he’d found an extra set of his clothes in her bag and changed out of Runcorn's oversized suit.

Hermione took the hint. “I’m going to see if I can find food,” she announced quietly. 

“Out there?” asked Harry looking up at her finally. “What about your bag?”

“I…. I didn’t plan on us not returning to Grimmauld Place, so…” Hermione tried not to stammer after seeing the frustrated look in Harry’s eye before he looked back down to the Horcrux. Hermione didn’t bother finishing her sentence. Tears threatened her eyes, and even though she wasn’t sure exactly what she was mourning, she turned and darted from the tent. 

Hermione stared up at the quickly darkening sky, and let the tears hastily roll down her cheeks. She’d known that things would get worse before the end of the war. She just hadn’t expected them to get worse today for some reason. She’d imagine herself at this point being… more prepared? She choked on a scoff. Was anyone prepared when the world fell down on them? 

Maybe she’d been naive in taking comfort and being complacent in Grimmauld Place. Maybe it was silly to believe they’d be lucky enough to use Sirius’s home as their own personal headquarters for the duration of the war. The little life the three of them had made over the past weeks at the house of Black had built a strange feeling of familiarity in her that a few hours ago had been cruelly ripped away from them. Would they stay in the wilderness from now on? How would they eat? 

Feeling her breaths come sharp and quick, Hermione steadied herself against a tree. She was unprepared. Her mind repeated it over and over; sometimes barely whispering it, other times screaming it at her. She was unprepared. Her chest felt like a full balloon with a slow leak, and yet she still couldn’t get enough air. She was gasping it through her mouth into her lungs and maybe even her stomach as she clung to the bark in desperation. There was too much. There were too many thoughts, concerns, possibilities stirring in her mind repeating, repeating. Hermione closed her eyes, and fought her instincts to tense up, and released all tension in her arms and shoulders. She would physically force herself out of panic if she had to. 

The thuds of her gradually slowing heart were suddenly disrupted by a twig breaking to her right. Hermione's head snapped to the side like an animals. In the quiet twilight of the forest, the sound had been as loud as a gunshot to her ears. 

“Harry?” she squeaked. Not Harry. 

Though light still slid through the canopy of the trees in diffused sheets, seeing anything on the forest floor was difficult. Shadows seemed to shift beneath the brush, and a breeze catching a branch could appear like a fluttering sleeve in the darkness. Still Hermione remained completely frozen and waited. 

No further sound came, and Hermione released a ragged breath and a mildly deranged laugh. She really was on edge. She cast a quick lumos and decided to try to do what she’d originally set out for by finding them something to eat. 

She had only just discovered some wild mushrooms hiding between some rocks when she heard it. Muffled but very, very real human voices. It sounded like at least three men calling to one another and moving…. Moving in her direction. 

Muggles? Possibly, but Hermione wasn’t about to take any chances. Hermione quickly cast around to see if she could catch sight of the intruders, but only darkness could be seen between the trees. The sound of twigs and branches breaking could be made out. They weren’t far off, and they were coming closer. Luckily, she hadn’t ventured far from her ward boundary. 

Hermione yanked up her hood, gripped her wand despite the sweat accumulating in her palms, and sprinted in the direction of camp keeping as low as possible to the ground. The calls were growing louder and the faint glow of distant lumos charms were coming through the brush, but she couldn’t decipher what her pursuers were saying. She hoped more than believed that the leaves crunching under her frantic footfalls would mix with that of the intruders, and weren’t giving her away. 

She could see the boundary just ahead when she sensed the sound of a second pair of shoes very near behind her treading quickly in pursuit. She’d been spotted. 

Hermione didn’t dare look back as she stood to full height and darted the rest of the way into the ward. Once safely in the bubble of her protection charm, Hermione swung her body around toward her attacker and pointed her wand. A tall, lithe, hooded figure stopped short just ten feet in from the boundary.  Though Hermione knew that there was no way he could see her through her ward, his proximity was still enough to make her breath hitch and her knees lock. Seconds or hours may have passed, Hermione wasn’t sure, but she refused to let herself so much as blink.

He, that is if he really was a “he”, was tall, almost as tall as Ron, but clearly young. He didn’t have the bulk of a fully grown man or the lazy slump most adults carried. This one was drawn up tall as if gravity was no burden on his broad shoulders. One thing was certain though: he wasn’t a muggle or even a snatcher. This person, whoever he was, was a full-on Death Eater. For beneath his heavy, black hood, even in the darkness of the woods, Hermione could clearly make out a bone white mask. 

They’d found them. Something had gone wrong, and Yaxley had been able to track where Hermione had apparated the three of them hours earlier. Now Voldemort had sent a team of Death Eaters to finish them off. What would they do to her? This Death Eater had definitely seen or at least heard her run into the camp site. Hermione didn’t know how long her protective wards would last once he alerted his comrades and they all attacked. 

But… he hadn’t alerted them. At least not yet. Hermione’s shoulders dropped. She knew that at times her mind worked very quickly, but she reckoned that the two of them had been standing like this for fifteen seconds at the very least, and yet he still hadn’t called the other Death Eaters. 

He had seen her, right? He must have, or he wouldn’t be standing there mere feet away from the boundary of her ward staring at the spot she’d run through it. 

Hermione lowered her wand slightly and appraised him. He seemed vaguely familiar. He couldn’t see her now, right? No. That was impossible. All he would have been able to see were the trees and the clearing with no evidence of their little tent. Then what was he doing?

The Death Eater stood with his wand drawn, but still lowered at his side. He wasn’t in a fighting stance. Hermione’s brows knit in confusion, but she did not lower her wand. He looked as if he was contemplating approaching a feral hippogriff. 

Hippogriff. The memory suddenly hit her, and she wondered if her skull would collapse from the realization.

_ No fucking way.  _

Hermione’s breathing and heart stopped entirely as he pulled up to his full height, and took two tentative steps toward her. The urge to scream Harry’s name began bubbling up her throat, and she took one cautionary step away from him tightening her grip on her wand. 

“Malfoy!” a voice called from off in the brush. His hooded head snapped to the left. The rest of the team had veered East away from them. Hermione’s brain raced desperately trying to conjure up a spell she could use that wouldn’t leave his body lying in the clearing as proof of their presence. 

He took one more step toward the boundary, and breathed heavily. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he calling them? The white bone mask completely obscured his expression aside from the two flashes of tell-tale silver shining from the eye openings. It was Draco. It was for sure and certain. No one other than Lucius Malfoy had eyes like that, and these were unblemished by the fine lines of an older man. 

“Malfoy!” the voices called again. Closer now, their bobbing lights becoming visible in the shadows. 

Draco let out a frustrated swear under his breath, closing his eyes. Then he took one slow, long breath through his nose.  _ What the fuck was he doing? _

“Granger,” it barely registered as more than an exhale from behind his mask, but Hermione heard it as loud as a gong in her ears. 

In a flash, Draco turned and silently stalked to the West disappearing into the shadows of the forest. 

“Hermione.”

Hermione felt herself jump practically out of her skin, and spin around. Harry was several meters away holding his wand at the ready. 

“Harry,” Hermione whispered, tears threatening again. 

“What happened? Did they see you?” Harry wasn’t looking at her. He kept his eyes on the darkness as if waiting for an army of Death Eaters to jump from the shadows. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted wrapping her arms around herself. “I think he could smell it… my perfume.” 

Harry gave her a sidelong look, and then grabbed her arm and guided her behind him, walking them backwards to the top of the little hill to the tent. 

Neither of them said anything for several minutes. They listened with strained ears as the voices of the Death Eaters faded farther and farther away into the darkness. They weren’t coming back. The voices were unnecessarily loud and casually jovial. Not that of a team of mercenaries who’d just discovered undesirable one two and three sitting helpless in the forest. That could only mean that Malfoy hadn’t told them what he saw or… smelled. Why? 

When all was quiet in the camp again, and only the sounds of crickets could be heard, Harry finally let go of her wrist and lowered his wand. Hermione had completely forgotten he was holding onto her.

Harry turned to her, “That Death Eater, did you recognize him?”

She wasn’t sure why she did it but… “He was wearing his mask. I can’t be sure. He seemed… young.” 

Harry took one last look into the darkness, and then steered them toward the opening of the tent.

“Were you able to find any food?” He asked with obvious effort to keep his voice gentle. The gold locket swung from his neck and caught on an errant thread in his jumper.

“Only some mushrooms,” she said bracingly.

Harry reached out and held the tent open for her, gesturing for her to enter in front of him. Hermione cast one last cautionary look into the darkness, and shook off a layer of terror from what had just transpired. Two of the closest of calls all in one day.

“Mushrooms sound great.” Harry said gently behind her. 


End file.
